


Madness

by emmadilla



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [31]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Assassination, Blood, F/M, Madness, Murder, bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 19:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17813684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadilla/pseuds/emmadilla
Summary: I ... I can't get these memories out of my mind/And some kind of madness has started to evolve ...Cicero reflects on his relationship with Marane Lachance, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.





	Madness

**Author's Note:**

> 30 Day OTP Challenge
> 
> BONUS: Something Bad
> 
> \-----
> 
> I've been wanting to write this for Cicero and Marane for a while and finally have an excuse to. :D Also, give the song that inspired it a listen to. Whenever I hear "Madness" by Muse, it just makes me think of Cicero, no matter what. It's just perfect for my little murder baby. <3

_So long, it has been so long …_

 

_Twelve long, lonely years passed without a Listener. Eleven longer, lonelier years with I appointed as Keeper. The silence, the laughter, the loneliness, it seeped deeply into my bones, making me feel like this was the only way things would be, that they would never be any different, any better. I was numb, numb to everything except the laughter within me. That would never leave. I was a servant and only ever would be, Mother’s Keeper. An assassin like I was trained to be no longer. Now little more than a piddling maid. And yet, so much more. So. Much. More. How can one feel so useless and yet so important at the same time? It makes no sense. But then again, little does._

 

Pausing to open a new jar of ink, he wet the tip of his quill in the dark liquid before resting it against the paper once more, a far-away smile on his face.

 

_Oh, but Cicero faithfully served the Night Mother. Oiled the body, whispered the incantations, removed the varmints. Listened, so intently, but heard nothing. Nothing but silence. Nothing but laughter. Silence and laughter hand in hand no matter where I went, whether I was in Cheydinhal or whether I was in Dawnstar. It made no difference. There was no difference. There was just the Unholy Matron and the Void and me. It took time, much longer than I even care to admit, for me to finally join what was left of the broken Family in Falkreath. But, perhaps, I took just the right amount of time. Just enough time for_ her _to get there, to integrate. She who would be Listener._

 

A fond smile grew deeper on his face as he remembered when he first met Marane Lachance. She hadn’t initially been present when he arrived, though she didn’t tarry long, arriving soon after Astrid welcomed him. She did not shy away from him or treat him awkwardly like most of the others. No, in fact she was the only one who seemed eager to welcome both him and the Unholy Matron with open arms. And why not? She was, of course, a Lachance. She knew better than most, likely even better than Cicero, the importance of the Night Mother’s presence, and that of her Keeper in lieu of a Listener.

 

There was just … _something_ about her. Something about the way she carried herself, the way she handled herself. It wasn’t arrogance or ego, nothing like that, _never_ like that. It was just a quiet confidence. Like she knew she was exactly where she needed to be. And of course she was, where else would a Lachance go? What else would they do? The old family wasn’t meant for mercantile or politics. They were a family steeped in one and only one tradition: murder. And they did it well. The Lachances had, unfortunately, already left Cheydinhal by the time Cicero had arrived, and so Marane was his very first contact with the family. And, by Sithis, he felt struck with something, some deep realisation, when he met her. At first he’d simply written it off as a reverence for her heritage, her legacy. But what he hadn’t truly realised, what it took him a while to accept, was that it ran much deeper than that.

 

_If anything, I almost expected the Night Mother to choose her, to speak to Marane. If not her, then who else? Who else was truly worthy in this bumbling band of blasphemers?._ \- Cicero sniggered at his alliteration - _No, it was only ever her. It_ had _to be her. The only surprise was how long it took for Mother to finally speak to her. Perhaps I expected it to happen immediately, perhaps I figured after so long, she would be eager to speak to a new Listener. But, all things in good time. Mother knows best, after all. And after all the time I plotted and whispered and attempted to openly sway the Family back to the old ways, Marane worked in secret, nudging and assessing from afar before she moved. Perhaps that, combined with her heritage, is why the Night Mother chose her. Because she understands, better than most, that drastic changes do not happen overnight, and it takes time. Time that Cicero does not like to bother with, not after waiting for so long as it was._

 

_Of course, sometimes, things happen to force one’s hand._

 

That _bitch_. He didn’t even write her name. Didn’t need to write her name. Hers was one he would remember for the rest of his life. When all other memories had left him, there would be a few that stayed with him until the end, and the treachery and blasphemy of the former Brotherhood leader would be one that followed him to the Void itself. The snide, sly asides were subtle at first, almost excusable given this particular Family’s history. But she could not remain that way forever, and she eventually dropped at pretence and jabbed directly where she knew it was hurt most. He’d never told Marane exactly what she said - and he knew that she would never disclose it, either - so exactly what had passed between them had remained secret. Marane had extrapolated that it had been against the Night Mother, and that was part of it, of course. No different than the subtle barbs that she’d been sinking in Cicero since his arrival, though her boldness was different. But the real reason he’d been pushed over the edge was the way she spoke against the Listener, against Marane herself.

 

According to the blasphemous bitch, Cicero was a perverted fool who had seduced the younger assassin in an attempt to bring her to his side to overthrow Astrid and take over the Family. As if someone like a Lachance was that weak-willed or stupid to see through a ruse like that. As if a Lachance wouldn’t already be on the side of the Night Mother to begin with! And, furthermore, to suggest that he bedded her simply for his own, personal gain … it made him sick to his stomach. The Night Mother didn’t need an agent like that. She moved in her own way, with her own agents, in her own time. And while certain bitches like to speed up the process, given time, Marane _would_ have taken over the Family. It just happened a little sooner, a little differently than originally intended.

 

Cicero had to work to even out his breathing, to control and temper the rage that still riled up within him. It had been difficult to see exactly why those implications had made him so … so _mad_ before. Now, of course, it was obvious. He’d been smitten with Marane since his hand had met hers in greeting. And to hear accusations like that against her, combined with the blasphemy against the Night Mother, he hadn’t been able to help himself. It was like an instinct filled him and his body moved without him even thinking about it. Damn Veezara getting in the way was the only thing that had stopped him, the only thing that had enabled him to snap out of his rage long enough to realise that he was all alone in a volatile situation and that he needed to leave. Immediately.

 

_After I was forced to flee Falkreath - pursued by an angry werewolf, no less - I thought that this was the end. Even if I didn’t die, surely I was now forever removed from the very organisation that I had championed and worked to protect for … well, for as long as I could remember. For as long as these journals have documented. I had thrown it all away, like a fool. The bait was laid and I played into her hands masterfully. Surely she gloated even as she washed her hands of the blood that had spattered on them. It made me sick to think of the perverse pleasure she got out of knowing that she had played me so masterfully, just as sick as it made me to know that I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. The biggest blow, however, was being forever separated from the Unholy Matron and her Listener. With a Listener named, there is not much use for a Keeper, but I still tended to my duties gratefully, still supported the Listener, enjoyed the time I spent with her, the reprieve I offered her from the constant stress and strain of operating in a Family that did not honour the old ways. It wore on Marane, I could tell. She never presumed to take honour and respect that she was not due, but when her role of Listener was shunted aside and dismissed, Cicero knew … I knew it hurt. How couldn’t it? It was the most prestigious role that could never be offered to a Dark Brother or Sister, and here it was barely even acknowledged._

 

_And when I was forced to flee, I knew I left her alone. And that cut deep, deeper than the wolf’s claws when he managed to catch up to me as I approached the Dawnstar sanctuary. I cut him good for that, but instead of finishing the job, I closed myself in, not willing to cross more lines than I had already. I was justified in it, yes. Sanctuaries had been purified in the past, it was not beyond precedence. And yet I could not bring myself to act as Lucien’s widow, and instead I hid._

 

_When Marane found me, laughing and bleeding out on the floor, I thought for sure that it was the end. Surely she was there to kill me, to end my suffering. And perhaps that was best. Perhaps that was the way it was always meant to be. Better to be cut down by a Lachance than bested by a common bandit like Pontius or simply disappearing like Garnag. It was an honour, in a way, one that I wasn’t sure that I deserved, but one that I would take gladly, given the circumstances._

 

And yet, she surprised him. Instead of driving her blade into his gut and finishing the job that the wolf could not, she pulled off her mask and shoved a healing potion down his throat, carefully sewing up his wound and then bandaging him before collapsing in a heap of tears. It cut him even deeper than the wound the fact that he would no longer be there to soothe over the rough edges for her. Lucien’s ghost would be there, of course, but having a spectre instead of a living, breathing human being was different. Cicero regretted his actions, but there was nothing doing now.

 

However, despite how much it seemed like things were falling apart, it seemed like it was moving along exactly as Mother intended. For, while he and the Listener were separated for what seemed like far too long, as it ended up, she _needed_ him there. Not only was he safe during the siege, but he was there to provide a new home to what was left of their Family afterwards.

 

And, somewhere in between, they had grown even closer.

 

She was the only thing that settled him, the only one that soothed the raging madness within him. Only in her presence did the silence and the laughter take a step back and simply allow her presence to take over. He loved it when they were together in the Sanctuary, of course, but when she took him with her on missions, oh … oh that was one of the things he now enjoyed the most. The crisp, cool air of Skyrim, the soothing presence at his side, the blood and the gore that coated his blade and served the Dread Father. Surely, after the years spent in isolation, selflessly serving the Unholy Matron, this was his reward for his faithfulness.

 

Glancing down at his journal, he realised that he hadn’t added anything more since his last sentence, the one where he was so sure Marane would strike him down. He moved to add on to his entry, but he could feel his focus slipping, could feel the madness encroaching once more, and no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he shook his head and set the quill aside. He hadn’t touched his journals in a long time, and while he’d sought to update them with everything that had happened since - of which, there was _a lot_ \- the moment had now passed. And in lieu of his reflections, he sought out his peace.

 

Wrapping his arms around Marane, he could feel her initially stiffen for just a fraction of a second before she relaxed as she saw who it was. He nuzzled into her neck and he could practically hear her purr as she said, “I have a new contract. Do you want to accompany me?”

 

“Commit murder? With you?” A wicked grin spread across his face as he murmured, “Do you really need to ask?”

 

They left that night, taking Shadowmere to the farm outside of Solitude, stalking their prey as they went about their morning routine. The farm was busy, but even with all the people bustling about, there was always an opportunity to strike. They needed only wait. And find that opportunity they did, taking out their blades simultaneously as they cut down the target swiftly and silently, Marane holding a firm hand over their mouth as Cicero gleefully stabbed, unable to hold back the soft giggle as he did so. And once the person had expired, she let the body fall to the ground and they swiftly snuck away, mounting Shadowmere and slinking away as quickly as the nightly shadows upon daybreak.

 

The wind lifted their hair, flicking away flecks of blood as they rode hard and fast, getting out of the hold as quickly as possible, likely before anyone even realised what had happened. Marane had traveled this route so many times, the secret path she took was instinctive as she guided Shadowmere over open fields and rolling hills and around the marshy ground before they made it to more solid earth.

 

Then and only then did they pause, allowing Shadowmere a chance to take a drink and themselves a chance to wash. No sense in risking someone seeing them spattered with blood, better to allay any suspicion than let it grow and fester. As they both washed their hands, Cicero chuckled and Marane asked, “What is it?”

 

Instead of answering, he dipped his hand directly in the water and swished it upwards, causing a small wave to be directed at her. After her initial shock, she threw back her head and laughed, used to his silly pranks, used to his madness. She complemented it well, offering him that solid foundation he needed, though she wasn’t so unmoving as to not enjoy a moment of revelry with her lover. Drawing him close, she sealed their lips together in a kiss and asked, “Should we make this a longer bath, then?”

 

Giggling against her lips, he acquiesced, “Whatever Listener thinks is best.”


End file.
